J. Blair - The Excalibur Murders

Nimue studied the chart, looking doubtful. “But still, we’ll be terribly vulnerable.”

“You have the advantage of knowledge. Mark doesn’t know that we know.”

“He must suspect, at least, or why follow and attack us?”

“He knows we know he’s up to something. He can’t possibly know we think he is the murderer. And as I’ve said before, the very fact that the man we suspect is also the head of the king’s armed forces makes for a very delicate situation. How can we know what kind of loyalty he has among the other commanders, and among the troops? I can’t tell you how deeply I hope I’m wrong about this. But everything I know suggests Mark is the one.”

“I can find out about the other commanders.” Brit was looking increasingly unhappy. “I can make some discreet inquiries, among knights I know I can trust.”

“When you get back from Cornwall. And remember, you mustn’t do anything to force Mark’s hand. Be subtle, be indirect and pick up whatever you can learn. Use all the guile you have.”

“Guile isn’t much good against armed swordsmen, Merlin. ”

“No, but it is priceless against blunt stupidity.”

“Why do I not find that comforting?”

“Arthur will provide a large enough escort to keep you safe. Discover what you can.”

Looking unhappy, or at least severely dubious, Nimue and Brit rose to go. Just as they were leaving, Merlin said, “And Colin? Use all the guile you have.”

“Uh… yes, Merlin.”

Nimue followed Brit down the stairs, past the spot where she’d found Ganelin. Suddenly Brit turned on her. “What did he mean by that?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“I don’t know what you mean. My name is Colin. You know that.”

“There has been talk about a young woman who fled from Morgan’s court. Mordred’s betrothed. She disappeared about the time you came here.”

“N-no.”

Merlin appeared at the top of the staircase. “Come back here, both of you.”

Slowly, sullenly, they climbed back to his study.

He closed the door behind them and leaned against it, wincing from the pain in his leg. “Now, Brit, what exactly are you suggesting?”

“Someone from Morgan’s court may be here in Camelot. And there have been murders. Can you not guess what I’m thinking?”

“Colin was with me in the Great Hall when Borolet was killed.”

“Are you certain? You yourself just said that he’s full of guile.”

He sighed sadly and looked at Nimue. “Tell her.”

“But I-”

“Tell her!”

And so Nimue confessed to Brit that she was not really Colin, not really a boy at all.

“So you see, Brit,” Merlin added when she was done, “I’ve known all along. I’ve encouraged Nimue to carry on this masquerade.”

Brit looked doubtful. “What have you known? How can you know what loyalty she feels to Morgan le Fay?”

“There is no doubt in my mind. Colin-Nimue is loyal to Arthur and Camelot and everything it represents. I’ve heard her complain about Morgan’s superstitious nonsense often enough. And no one sane could want to marry a horror like Mordred.”

Brit was unconvinced but kept quiet.

“We can’t start fighting among ourselves, Brit. We have to trust each other. This kind of squabbling is the worst thing we can do.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I am and you know it. Time is short. Midwinter is approaching fast, and it is more important than ever. It may be the last chance we have to lure Mark here unsuspecting.”

“But without proof-”

“I can provide proof. I’ve commented recently about using people’s superstitions against them. And Mark is as gullible as anyone. That will be his undoing. But we need him to come here, unsuspecting and without his guard up. Ensuring that will be your job. When you get to Cornwall, comfort him, flatter him, make him believe his position is secure.”

“Merlin, I want to know what you’re up to. What are you planning?”

“In time, Brit. Go to Cornwall. Everything depends on the two of you getting Mark to lower his guard.” Softly, he added, “Please. We are too far into this investigation to let it come apart now.”

And so the next morning Merlin saw Brit and Nimue off to Cornwall. Their carriage was larger and heavier-and better protected-than the one they’d used on their visit to Morgan, and a detachment of sixteen armed soldiers escorted them.

Just before they left, Nimue took Merlin aside. “I’m afraid, Merlin. She doesn’t trust me. And how sure are you that she isn’t loyal to Mark?”

“Brit is one of my oldest, closest friends here. I’m as sure of her as I can be of anyone.”

“Mark is one of Arthur’s oldest friends, remember? And Britomart thinks I’m working for Morgan.”

“I’ve noticed the tension between the two of you before. I was never certain what caused it. But it will pass. Get to know her. You’ll like her and she’ll like you.”

Uncertain, unhappy, she got into the carriage with Brit, and the column left Camelot.

Then Merlin headed to the castle library, where one of the copyists was working on something for him. “Good morning. Is it ready?”

“Nearly, sir.” The copyist was a slender young man in his late twenties. “It’s simple enough.”

“Fine.”

“Are you certain you don’t want any illuminations or enhancements? It’s so plain.” He wrinkled his nose. “Unattractive. I can do better work than this.”

“Just a plain, straightforward copy of the chart, please, with no crosses, triangles and such.”

“Yes, sir. It will be ready in an hour or so.”

“Fine. Bring it to me then, will you? I’ll be in my tower.”

Next he went to Arthur’s tower and found Greffys. “I should be ready this afternoon. You’ve explained to the servants what I want?”

“Yes, Merlin. But-”

“But what?”

“They’re suspicious.”

“Who wouldn’t be? But they must understand that we’re investigating the murders. And they must understand that they themselves are not under suspicion. Tell them that. Reassure them. I’ll do the same when I talk to them.”

“Yes, Merlin. I thought you wanted the investigation kept secret.”

“The time for that is past. I think we should be ready to begin by mid-afternoon. Bring the first of them then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Greffys?”

The boy had turned to go; he paused in the doorway. “Yes?”

“You’ve done a fine job so far.”

The squire beamed. “Thank you!”

And so at mid-afternoon Greffys brought the first of the servants to Merlin’s study. She was one of the kitchen girls, a buxom redhead in her early twenties. And she was plainly nervous.

“Good afternoon.” Merlin smiled in a way he hoped was fatherly and reassuring. “You are Alice?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Has Greffys, here, explained why I want to talk to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You understand, my only interest is in the informationyou might be able to provide. No one thinks you’ve done anything out of line.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Uh… yes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember the night of the ceremony for the Stone of Bran?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The night Borolet was killed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you say anything besides ‘yes, sir’?”

“Yes, sir.”

He sighed. “You recall that night, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where were you?”

“Sir?”

“When we all gathered in the Great Hall, where were you?”

“In the kitchen, sir, making honey cakes.”

“As I remember it, the supply of those ran out early.”